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helen w mallon | helen w mallon

helen-mallon's picture
Nov.13.2010
[News flash: the Odyssey lives to tote us around for at least another year. We hope. Parts were replaced.   Unless that recent, chugging noise when you turn on the ignition means something dire...] Here's the real post: A pastor at the Presbyterian church we attended a few years ago told me that he...
helen-mallon's picture
Oct.28.2010
Which was my favorite birthday gift of all time? A. Those who guessed the Irish fisherman's sweater were on to something.  Fablique1 remembers me in such a garment--it didn't hang to my knees (that was poetic license), but I wore it all the time.  The sweater was a nice addition, but it didn't...
helen-mallon's picture
Oct.26.2010
At my daughter's Quaker school, the kids call their teachers by their first names.  It wasn't the case when I was at Quaker school back in the Neolithic era.  It was Mrs., Miss, Mr.  "Ms." was still a news item at the time, not yet filtered into the culture. Some people are convinced that...
helen-mallon's picture
Oct.24.2010
Quiddity is the essence or whatness of something.  Periodically, I will be offering a small prize (virtual or physical) to however many people correctly guess which is true, or on other occasions, which is the whoppingest lie, of several options. With appreciation to everyone who sent me good...
helen-mallon's picture
Oct.10.2010
This brief excerpt is from my novel in progress titled "Quaker Playboy Leaves Legacy of Confusion." "When she was a child, Quaker meeting had taught her that silence is not empty.  It can be rich as plum cake, and sometimes, sitting between her parents on the plain bench, the silence...
helen-mallon's picture
Oct.10.2010
This brief excerpt is from my novel in progress titled "Quaker Playboy Leaves Legacy of Confusion." "When she was a child, Quaker meeting had taught her that silence is not empty.  It can be rich as plum cake, and sometimes, sitting between her parents on the plain bench, the silence...
helen-mallon's picture
Sep.18.2010
Here's a poem from Bone China, my poetry chapbook:   Wilderness Where a thousand shadows fell on a great scourged stone forgotten, tongues whisper oh, all the sorrow-- spent cartridges, rain, bruises a hand in a ditch, silence, the year after, feathers, thoughts of sinking, the hard decisions...